


Summer Promise

by AtPK



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Barduil - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:27:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4313949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtPK/pseuds/AtPK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barduil Week Ficlet: On Holiday (Day 1)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Promise

Thranduil caught sight of his reflection in the floor length mirror, and stopped to check the cut and flow of his robes, readjusting his crown slightly. The light through the window was bright and cheerful, full of summer promise; a light befitting the summer lodge. He looked up when he heard the sound of multiple hooves in the courtyard below, and began to fuss with his robes again.

Bard had arrived.

Thranduil stared at his reflection for a long moment, before breathing in deeply and letting in out in a long exhale.

There was an unease in his mind that he couldn’t quite dispel no matter how he tried to reason away his behaviour. He didn’t know why he’d agreed to let Bard bring his entirely family to the summer lodge; he didn’t know why he’d changed his plans so that he’d be at the summer lodge at the same time; he didn’t why he had this irritating flutter in his stomach at the thought of seeing Bard again - the first time Thranduil would have seen him since his coronation; he didn’t know why the idea of spending a week with Bard made him giddy with anticipation.

It wasn’t if he’d missed the other man’s company, or his smile, or his carefree way of brushing aside Thranduil’s often times harsh and cynical words. Thranduil felt his mouth go dry, and he turned away from the mirror, swirling out the door. He was too old for this.

The sound of children’s laughter in the atrium. Thranduil stopped on the stairs and watched them from afar. They were all rosy cheeked, full of youth and life and joy and it already made Thranduil feel tired. It was only when Bard appeared, carrying several boxes and bags, that Thranduil perked up.

It was the youngest girl that spotted him first, and then nudged her sister, who silenced her brother, and all three stared up at him in awed silence.

“What’s happened to you all?” Bard asked, dropped the bags at his feet, and looked up to see why his children had gone quiet. His expression changed subtly when their eyes met, but the smile remained. “My lord Thranduil, I hadn’t expected to find you here.”

Thranduil sighed, feigning disinterest. “When I made the arrangements with you, King of Dale, I hadn’t appreciated the dates of our furlough would be the same.”

Bard didn’t look entirely convinced. “I see, well I hope we won’t intrude on your vacation too much.”

They stared at each other for a moment longer and then Thranduil clapped his hands, and an elf in waiting came forward: “Help them with their things,” he waved dismissively. “They’ll be staying in the orchard suite.”

“My lord,” the elf bobbed an imperial bow and then proceeded to tussle with Bard for the baggage.

“It’s really not necessary,” Bard reasoned, but to on avail. The elf, as Thranduil knew he would, triumphed.

“You are a King now Bard, you should at least try to act like one.” Thranduil deadpanned.

“I’m on holiday.” Bard replied, as if that explained everything. “Come along you lot.”

The children followed him up the stairs, continuing to watch Thranduil as they passed him by, and even then as they disappeared out of sight. The moment they rounded the corner they broke into an excited babble of conversation, the only words he heard clearly being ice king.

He’d have to try and make a better impression.

Thranduil’s breaks from running the kingdom were rarely breaks as most would understand it; he generally used the time to catch up on correspondence, rarely leaving his rooms, the views from his window being enough to satisfy his needs. On any other occasion, the grounds would have been tranquil and quiet, but not today.

It seemed the children, after their long journey from Dale, had energy to spare and where currently chasing each other around the lawns, Bard standing on the sidelines watching them and laughing. As if sensing him looking, Bard suddenly looked up over his shoulder and waved at him.

Thranduil raised his chin and nodded in response.

This was ridiculous. He was acting like a love-sick elfling. The error of his decision was all together too clear. He would have to avoid the humans for the totality of their stay, and once they were gone, he’d return to his quiet seclusion. It was a good plan, but one the children didn’t seem to want to follow.

At every turn he seemed to stumble over one or the other of them, and then on one of those occasions the youngest had given him a flower chain made of daisies.

“It’s very lovely here.” she cooed.

“Yes.” he replied.

“Thank you for letting us stay,” she continued brightly. “Da’s been so busy with everything, we’ve hardly seen him.”

“It’s not an easy thing to run a kingdom.”

“Don’t you think it’s easy?”

Thranduil sighed laugh: “I’ve been running my kingdom for longer then you can imagine, pen tithen.”

“How old are you?”

Thranduil blinked at the question, it had been a long time since anyone had asked him that, and the answer didn’t come straight to mind.

“Ah, there you are, Tilda.” Bard said, appearing as if from out of nowhere. “She wasn’t disturbing you, was she?”

“No, not at all.” Thranduil replied, surprised that he meant it.

“Will you be having dinner with us?” Tilda asked, bright and expectant.

“You wouldn’t be intruding.” Bard added.

Thranduil started to back away slowly. “Perhaps; I regrettably have letters that must be written, so I can’t promise.” he said by way of explanation and quickly took his leave. When he didn’t come down to dinner, Bard brought it up to him.

“It’s strange,” Bard said, as he put the plate down on the desk. “I spoke to Tauriel before talking to you about using the lodge, and she was under the impression that you usually only came here during the late summer months.”

“Tauriel hardly knows my every move,” Thranduil countered, pleased that he managed to keep the edge in his voice; even if he did feel the blush threatening to colour his cheeks.

“She was the head of your guard,” Bard smiled. “I should hope she knew your every move.”

Thranduil stared at him blankly for a few heartbeats.

“There’s no rule to say I can’t come to my own summer lodge, at any time during the summer that pleases me.”

Bard looked highly amused. “No, none at all. It’s just strange.”

“I have -”

“- letters to write.” Bard finished for him. “Yes, I know. I’ll leave you to your letter writing my lord Thranduil.”

Thranduil watched him leave the room and then sunk down into his chair, holding his head in his hand. This was all going horribly wrong. And it only got worse. It had rained nonstop from the break of day, till what the children called tea time, and as they’d been confined to the house, they started to get up to mischief. He wasn’t entirely sure what manner of mischief, but when he heard the thump and cry of pain he felt obligated to intervene.

The older girl, Sigrid, was laying in a sprawl at the bottom of the stairs. He went to her immediately, not sure at all what to do. Humans were delicate, he had to be careful not to hurt her, but at the same time he had to check she was okay. Brushing his robes aside he hunkered down beside her, and put his hand in front of her mouth; there was nothing at first and he began to panic that one of Bard’s children had been killed while under the protection of his house. But then he felt it, the gentle breath on his palm.

Relieved by that at least, he reached under her and lifted her up into his arms. His rooms were closest, so be brought her to his bed, and then called for Bard. Thranduil placed a small amount of salts under her nose and she woke up, coughing, looking around her in shock and awe.

“Where am I?” she asked.

“In my quarters.They were the nearest place to take you.”

“I was looking for Bain,” she said. “We were playing hide and seek. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” he said. “All that matters is that you’re well.” Thank the Valar, he added under his breath.

“Are all these clothes, yours?” Sigrid asked.

“Who else would they belong to?”

He hadn’t meant to be harsh, but from the way she looked down at her hands on the bed sheet, he thought he probably had been.

“They’re a small selection of my wardrobe.”

“A small selection,” she exclaimed, incredulous. “That’s more clothes then Da, me, Bain and Tilda have together.”

“Indeed.” Thranduil replied.

Sigrid sat up and moaned, reaching to touch a nasty bump on her head.

“Here,” Thranduil prompted. “Take a small sip of this; it should help with the swelling.”

“Thank you,” she did as he bade, but even so still seemed more interested in the silken scarf draped over the bedside table. “It’s very pretty.”

“You can have it, if you like it. I’ve already grown bored of many of these things.”

Sigrid looked at him askance: “You’re not really what I thought you’d be like.”

It was then that Bard rushed into the room, panicked.

“What happened?” he demanded, going instantly to Sigrid and checking her for any sign of injury.

“I’m ok Da; Thranduil has looked after me.”

The look on Bard’s face was both surprised and thankful, with just a little hint of something that looked like genuine warmth and affection towards Thranduil.

“Thank you, Thranduil.” Bard said, his voice tinged with emotion.

Thranduil nodded in response.

Sigrid had twisted her ankle and bumped her head but otherwise had sustained no further injury; she was back on her feet again the next morning, and Thranduil caught sight of her with his scarf draped over her shoulders, talking happily with her siblings.

“Good morning,” Sigrid called to him across the space of the hall. “We’re going down to the lake today, will you come with us?”

“Oh do, do please come.” Tilda chimed in.

Thranduil had received word from Mirkwood earlier that day, of a break in trade agreements with the dwarves, and knew that he should really sit down and look over the documentation as soon as possible.

“It would be nice if you could come.” Bard said from behind him and Thranduil felt the shiver run through him.

All things considered he supposed he could look over the papers later, after all, as Bard had put it, he was on holiday.

“I’d be pleased to join you.” he replied quietly, not meeting Bard’s eye.

It was a wonderful warm day, and Bard took the row boat out onto the water, taking the children out over the lake. Thranduil had never been one for water, he much preferred to keep the ground firmly under his feet and so he opted to remain on the shore, sitting happily on a boulder, in the shade of a tree.

There was a commotion and he looked up in time to see Bard loose his balance and pitch ungracefully into the water. Thranduil felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time, something bubbling up inside him, and the laugh burst from his lips before he could even put a name to the emotion.

Thranduil laughed. Deep and pure and real.

Bard waded out of the lake, waving his arms and shaking his hair; Bain rowing the boat back to shore, the two girls joining Thranduil in his joy. Bard glanced up at him sheepishly through a film of soaking wet hair.

“Is there something you find amusing, my lord?”

“Oh, I am sorry Bard, but you did look very funny.”

“Oh really?” Bard replied and Thranduil understood the tone of his voice, right before Bard flicked water all over him.

‘What? No.“ Thranduil protested. “Stop that.”

But he didn’t really want it to end. Later, over dinner, another messenger arrived from Mirkwood, and Thranduil knew his break was almost over.

“I will need to leave in the morning, there is business I must attend to.” he said to the table as a whole; he hadn’t expected the disappointed silence that followed his words.

“But you’ll come back, won’t you?” Tilda asked.

Thranduil looked up at her, his gaze slowly drifting to Bard: “I will do my utmost to return before you leave.”

Bard nodded and Tilda cheered up instantly, the merry chatter continuing unheeded by further interruption.

It was a misty morning, and he met Bain on the stairs as he headed out to the stables.

“I ah,” he looked embarrassed by something.

“What is it?” Thranduil asked, concerned.

“No, it’s just, well, I heard you had another elk, and I wondered if I could, y'know -” he finished lamely with a shrug of his shoulders. Thranduil couldn’t help his smile; human children were quite an enigma to him. And although it was true that he did have an elk, Tálagor, she was not new to him; she was the offspring of Suldal, and Thranduil had raised her from birth.

Bain trailed behind him like a silent ghost in the mist.

“She isn’t full grown yet,” Thranduil offered as they stepped over the threshold, the scent of the horses instantly assailing them, but that didn’t seem to matter to Bain.

“I saw you during the battle,” Bain said, excitedly. “The way you cut off the heads of all those orcs; it was really - ” he faltered, looking at Thranduil uncertainly. “Ah, y'know.”

“You can touch her, if you wish.”

Tálagor shied away from Bain’s hand and so Thranduil shushed her, running his hand lightly over her neck and flank; she nudged him in the chest, and he realised that he’d forgotten to bring her something from the kitchen.

“Can I give her this?” Bain asked, holding up an apple. Thranduil nodded his approval and left them in each others company to go and saddle his horse. The stable-hand stepped forward to help him but Thranduil waved him away; he preferred this time to bond with the animals. He’d spent many nights in the stable with Suldal after Tálagor had been born. Thranduil had felt her loss like a physical blow.

“You can’t ride her yet, can you?”

“No, she isn’t ready for my weight as yet; but perhaps, Tilda,” Thranduil paused. “Or yourself?”

Bain smiled at him brightly. It seemed Thranduil wasn’t the only one to feel the thrill at the idea of riding atop a great elk.

“Till the morrow, Bain.” Thranduil called as he rode out the stable doors, taking the road back to Mirkwood. It was a long morning ride, but it was an even longer day which dragged slowly into evening with no compromise being made, and Thranduil began to think that he wasn’t going to be able to make good on his promise. They argued into the night, and Thranduil was tired to the bone when he finally fell into bed; angry and frustrated and disappointed; all of his restful calm of the day before, forgotten.

His bad mood was still on him when he galloped back into the courtyard of the summer lodge, his horses hooves throwing up a cloud of dust. He looked around to see if there was any sign of Bard and the children, but all was silent, and he felt the pang of regret.

“You’re cutting it close.” Bard said, from a window above. “Tilda was starting to worry she wouldn’t see you.”

“Just Tilda?” Thranduil called up, wishing he could take back his words the instant he heard them leave his mouth. Bard looked at him curiously for a stretch of time, his gaze intent.

“No,” he replied. “Maybe not just Tilda.”

Thranduil felt his heart beat trip. Bard had hoped to see him too.

Thranduil found him in the orchard suite, packing the last of the children’s things into an over-sized bag. Thranduil handed him a sock, and Bard gave him a crooked grin.

“Thank you,” Bard said. “And I don’t just mean for this.” He threw the sock into the bag and snapped it closed. “The rabble have truly enjoyed their stay here. They’re quite taken by you.”

“It’s been…” Thranduil paused. “…my pleasure.” he finished honestly.

Bard turned towards him and that intensity in his eyes was back; Thranduil took a step forward and Bard reached out a hand, pulling him down slightly to press a light kiss to his lips. Thranduil froze, unable to make sense of the long forgotten emotions clambering around for dominance inside him; joy, fear, want, need.

He opened his eyes to find Bard was still staring at him, watching him closely; Thranduil gave him a little self-conscious smile. Their foreheads just barely touched. Bard lay a hand on Thranduil’s cheek, and Thranduil was surprised to find that he nuzzled into the calloused palm.

They stayed that way, quiet for a time in each others space, and Thranduil was glad because he didn’t know what to say or do now that the move had been made. Eventually he sighed, and lifted his own hand to the one Bard still held to his cheek.

“I promised Bain that he could ride Tálagor on my return.”

“What’s a Tálagor?” Bard asked, suspicion in his voice.

“Tálagor is my great elk.”

Bard didn’t look much happier, but he didn’t get the chance to protest because at that moment Tilda rushed into the room.

“You’re back,” she beamed, not seeming to notice the closeness of Thranduil to Bard; Sigrid did, however, following closely on the heels of her sister.

“Will you come to Dale for our next holiday?” Tilda asked him, looking up expectantly.

“I think that would be a great idea.” Bard added, and Thranduil had to fight down the fear that suddenly gripped his heart; in the space of only a few days, he had gone from being alone and reclusive, to having a vibrant young family around him; a human family.

“Yes, I think I can manage that,” he replied and the girls cheered. Bain was waiting for them down in the courtyard and, rather then disappoint the boy, Thranduil went to get Tálagor; with only a single disapproving look from Bard. He stood in the early afternoon light, brushing fingers with Bard, watching the children with Tálagor, basking in their joy.

He was old, very old; but Bard and the children, made him feel young again.


End file.
